


Later

by Songofpsalms297



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A bit of angsty schmoop., F/M, How do I love thee?, In regards to emotional expressions Cassandra is my spirit animal, Post-Coital Conversation, Surprises, This could be seen as smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songofpsalms297/pseuds/Songofpsalms297
Summary: I am delighted to discover there are new authors for my OTP! Thank you for indulging with me. I hope you enjoy!





	Later

**Author's Note:**

> I am delighted to discover there are new authors for my OTP! Thank you for indulging with me. I hope you enjoy!

Later, rumpled covers, cooling sweat, catching their breaths, they lay wrapped together, replete. Her fingers begin their slow dance through his chest hair, gentle caresses that pen the words she struggles to say. He rumbles in pleasure; her surprised giggle pops out into the air between them. Warm amber, with a canted brow meet startled mirthful chocolate. His startled expression triggers an explosion of laughter from her. His smile broadens, answering mirth sparkling in his own eyes. They subside, humor and joy reflecting in one another’s eyes. She breaks the silence.

“It never was the chest hair.”

His eyebrows rise to meet his hairline. Doubt suffuses his tone. “Really?”

She smiles. Gazing into his eyes she remembers a thousand thoughtful moments. Times he went out of his way to find something for her that would make her job easier, little items he’d found in their travels that he gave to her, with no thought for recompense, simply because he thought she might enjoy them. Little moments over the months when he’d taught her Wicked Grace, after he’d helped her learn Shepard’s Six with a minimum of teasing, and she’d been angry enough at her failure to want to destroy another set of training dummies. A thousand, countless times where he had encouraged her, taught her, laughed at her frustration, and helped her see a less abrasive way of getting what she wanted.

Trying to muffle an errant giggle against his chest, she succeeds in snorting instead. Careful to not displace her, Varric props himself up on his elbows. “You say it wasn’t the chest hair, yet you seem to be awfully fond of petting it.” A little frustration leaks out into his voice, “I didn’t think my question was that funny.”

Calming her laughter at the seriousness in his tone, she breathes deeply.

 “No, my love. Many other things drew my heart to yours. Not the expanse of hair you strut around displaying for the world to see.”

She doesn’t miss the hurt expression which he tries to hide. It pulls at her heart. She is both enchanted and grieved. He trusts her in this place, this sanctuary they have excavated for themselves amidst the torrid fury of others’ wars.  She is grieved because he is still unsure of her intentions toward him, them. After all the hours, they have logged fighting together, at one another’s sides. He still is fearful she will abandon him and this relationship they have worked so hard for. Her fists ball without conscious consideration, fire flashes in her eyes. He tenses a bit, in preparation for her ire. Saddened she deflates, even as frustration rears its head. She had reams of his words now describing how he saw her. A righteous, warrior woman, who regally balanced her duties and her missions. Not for the first time she wishes she could be the woman he sees. Not for the last time she wishes she had his way with words. Sighing, she props herself up on one elbow, placing her other hand right above his heart, burrowing her fingers in the sensation of his hair tickling her fingers and hand.  

“Forgive me. I do not have the tact I should. And you know how I struggle with the words to express my heart to yours.” She stops speaking momentarily gratified, and irritated that her grand romantic expression is being derailed by his gaze. The evidence of where his eyes were drawn when she moved makes its presence known against her abdomen. “Ugh.” She swats at his chest, and his eyes meet hers, twinkling.

He clears his throat, an adorable blend of amusement, arousal, and embarrassment at getting caught ogling, he murmurs, “Sorry, Cass. You were saying?”

Exasperated and amused she shoots back, “I am trying to tell you something important, you ass. And instead of listening you are thinking.” She rolls off his chest and sits up contemplating the clothing piled on the chair nearest the fire. A rush of peace pours through her at the sight of their clothing seated together. The clothing obviously removed with care, an indication of the way they came together these days. It was less a rush of torn clothing and dented hastily removed armor, and more a planned, deliberate choice. Their partially full wine glasses caught the embers and reflected multi-hued light around their room.

Her eyes catch at his quill, standing at attention. The stack of Guild correspondence piled against the wall, threatening to spill over the floor.  Looking at the parchment, she wonders if he has begun another installment of _Swords and Shields_ for her yet. The anticipation is almost as wonderful as the pleasure of reading the words he will write just for her.

His fingers skating up her arm bring her back to him. The question in his eyes breaks her heart a little. Bracing herself, she tries again, prayer for the right words to express her heart is winging its way to the Maker’s ears. “Varric.” She grimaces as his name comes out more sharply than she’d intended. Her frustration with her own lack coming out, shaping his name into an accusation, rather than the caress she’d intended. Scowling at her own inability to use words to reveal the depth of her love to him, how she feels his love of her is something to be treasured, cherished, as he deserves to be treated, she hits upon an idea.

He is bemused by the war of emotions racing across Cassandra’s beloved face. He chuckles at their current situation. Both are covered at least partially by his crimson bedsheet. The heat from the almost extinguished fire still radiating through the room. He gets up to give her time to pull her thoughts, and feelings together. Padding to the fire place, he rakes the remaining coals into a pile and carefully arranges the logs so they will catch, and allow he and Cassandra to remain in their little sanctuary a while longer.

Evie had taken them along with the Iron Lady, on a two-month excursion to the Emerald Graves to find out more information on Corypheus’ plans to wipe out the world in an agony of fire and red lyrium, only to discover that an entire contingent of elves had been decimated in an ancient elhven temple. Chuckles had broken down just inside the temple to Varric’s great surprise. Varric had drawn the party away so Chuckles could grieve without having to face curious eyes.

Varric’s thoughts wandered to the events of their journey through the beautiful, if deadly place, and remembered how he and Cassandra had finally gotten to the point where they dared embark on a romantic relationship. Recalling finding her in his tent, without her armor on, pacing as she rehearsed what she wanted to say to him brought a smile to his lips. Recalling how they’d begun this relationship brought a sigh of contentment out of him. Her groan of frustration snapped him back to the present. Grinning, he proudly stalked toward the tawny skinned goddess half-swathed in crimson. Oh, life was good.

He rearranged himself against the headboard, and reached so she could once again wrap herself around him. She raised her hand. “I do not have the beautiful words you do. But I will endeavor to show you how much you, this, what we have, means to me. You are my beloved. And, I- “flustered, she stops. Considering her eyes, he sees she is disappointed, she feels she has fallen short of her goal. Doesn’t realize her heart is open to his gaze.

He shifts, sitting upright. He takes her hands into his. Delicate, fierce hands, so tender in their caresses; so, strong in their defense. “Cass,” he rumbles her name the way he knows she likes, “it doesn’t matter to me what drew us together. I’m just grateful to have you at all.” He wipes the tear that runs down her cheek.  “I will love you forever, Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena “The-Maker-Only-Knows-If-There-Are-Any-More-Names-Because-You-Sure-As-Hell-Won’t-Tell-Me” Pentaghast.” She laughs along with him.

“I fell in love with your heart, Varric. You wear it on your sleeve and fight for those you love to your own peril. But I admit it, the chest hair is nice.”

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Cole allows his feet to take him away from the door as the giggling drifts from within Varric and soon-to-be Cassandra’s room. He hums a lullaby to the ether as he fades away, wondering aloud as he goes, “I wonder if knowing about her before the battle will help them fight better, or if knowing would impede their combat skills?” He makes his decision before turning down the corridor leading toward the Hanged Man. “After the battle is won. Tethras? Or Pentaghast? Or some amalgam of the two? I wonder what her name will be?” He nods firmly, “Later.”

 


End file.
